Attempted Thievery
by who is sabrina
Summary: An unsuspecting thief thinks he's found the perfect target in one Irene Adler. He immediately learns otherwise. Disclaimer: I don't own SH.


Harland grinned, ducking further into the alleyway. He had found the perfect target.

Peering around the corner again, he studied the beautiful woman making her way down the street. She was walking alone, and the vibrant colors of her extravagant dress clearly showed her wealth, some of which would soon be Harland's. Yes, she was the perfect target.

The woman looked behind her, and when she turned back around she was smiling to herself. Harland chuckled quietly. She was checking for danger behind her, and was evidently pleased to find none. Little did she know what awaited her.

In a moment, the woman drew level with him, and Harland smoothly stepped out onto the street. He swung an arm around her in a friendly manner, pressing his knife against her side threateningly.

"Want to come with me, sweetheart?" he asked, steering her off the street and into the alley, away from the eye of the public. He walked her a few paces down the alley, near the shadowy corner that connected this alleyway with another.

"Scream, and you're dead," he warned her cheerfully, moving away from her side and shoving her against the brick wall to examine her. His grin faltered slightly as he realized she didn't look terrified, or even scared in the slightest. Screaming seemed to be the last thing on her mind. In fact, her eyes were positively dancing, and her white teeth contrasted sharply with her blood-red lipstick as she bit her bottom lip in what looked like - but certainly _couldn't be_ \- an effort to contain laughter.

Frowning, Harland waved his knife in her face and studiously ignored the sweating of his palms. Why did he feel suddenly nervous? His eyes flicked over her form once more.

"I'll take that ring, for starters," he demanded, using the knife to gesture at the glittering ruby that adorned her ring finger. She smiled, slipped it off, and tossed it to him.

Utterly bewildered, he caught it with both hands, and that was all she needed. In an instant, Harland found himself on the grimy alley floor, ears ringing slightly from the sharp blow to his head. _What the-?_

"Ooh, that looked like it hurt," the woman - an American, he registered with surprise - said sympathetically, leaning down into his line of vision, perfect brunette curls bouncing around her blinding smile. Something silver caught Harland's eye, and he lunged for his dropped knife, but the woman got there first. She kicked the knife away, sending it skittering into the shadows of the connecting alley, and then smashed her expensive red heel into Harland's reaching hand. He cursed loudly.

"Mind your language," she admonished with evident relish. "There's a lady present." He growled. She was playing with him. But he had more raw strength than she did, and there was no way she would be able to hold him down for long. Not without-

"Hand me that knife, would you, dearest?" she called. For a moment, Harland was confused. But in the next moment, a figure melted out of the shadows from the connecting alleyway. It was a man, lean and frazzled-looking, his dark hair a tangled mess, his clothes tattered and stained. But he was smiling like the woman.

"Certainly," the strange Englishman responded, producing Harland's knife out of nowhere and handing it over placidly. The woman happily pressed it into Harland's neck. He felt a sting as the cold metal broke the skin slightly.

"Scream, and you're dead," she told him with a sly grin. The knife dug deeper into him, and Harland glared, remaining absolutely silent. He believed her. "I assume you have handcuffs with you?" she asked, addressing the other man again.

"Hm, Watson does keep telling me that you know me too well," he remarked. From a coat pocket he removed a pair of handcuffs - _Who was this guy?_ \- and knelt beside Harland to cuff him. The man grabbed his wrists with surprising strength, pulled him easily to a nearby drainpipe, and cuffed him to the dirty metal.

He stood, and the woman came to stand with him, cleaning her ruby ring off on her sleeve. She slipped it back onto her ring finger with practiced ease. Harland spat at her feet.

"Love your husband?" he sneered with contempt.

"Certainly not," she replied matter-of-factly. "But I do love the price his ring will fetch." She winked at him in a positively infuriating manner, and then linked arms with the man beside her. Together, they looked down on him, the gorgeous brunette and the unkempt man. After a moment, the man spoke.

"I thought perhaps dinner might be in order."

"The Royale?"

"Wonderful."

Harland watched the two of them, gaping, as the woman turned and began to walk back towards the street. "Wait!" the would-be thief yelled in frustration, pulling against the cuffs behind him. The metallic clanking echoed through the alley. "You're not going to just leave me here like this!" he seethed. The woman stopped and turned back for one last look.

"Honey," she told him plainly, "if you can't get out of that yourself, you're in the wrong line of work." And with that, she continued out of the alley, disappearing onto the main street.

"C'mon, lemme go," Harland growled, now appealing to the man.

"Good night, sir," he responded, moving to follow the woman onto the street. The prospect of a cold night trapped in a damp alley on the wrong side of London suddenly doused Harland's anger, leaving him abruptly nervous.

"But, sir!" he called. "Please, I-"

"Excuse me. I'm late for a dinner date."


End file.
